


Forward

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Steve flees to Wakanda with Bucky, he visits Natasha one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forward

**Author's Note:**

> For [spiderilng](http://spiderilng.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and the flashfic prompt they submitted, "stevenat + all I ask." So sorry it took so long to pop this out, but hey, this definitely surpassed a flashfic! And it's practically 3k of smut, wow.
> 
> Also, **warning if you haven't seen Civil War yet**. There aren't any major spoilers, but this is set after the movie.

Natasha’s back hits the entryway wall as soon as she’s got her door pushed open, a large, six-foot bulk of muscle that smells like leather and breath mints crowding her in and forcing the air out of her lungs because of it. Or maybe it’s just the way he crashes his lips against hers, not at all gentle or hesitant, just full on _force_ , desperation, making her melt into the peeling wallpaper of her shitty safe house. She has no choice but to gasp and kiss back, curl her fingers into his shoulders. But she feels the tension there, too. The tension that’s only palpable because of everything going to absolute and complete _hell_ since, well, Lagos.

That was nearly two months ago.

Steve doesn’t give her any chance to ask questions, even though there is more than enough running through her mind. _Are you okay? Where have you been? How did you find me? Why now?_ The chief one is the _why_ , because she has all the why’s in the world on the tip of her tongue, even as Steve sucks it into his mouth. She just can’t gather her wits enough to stop kissing him back and break away, clear her head and do what they both know needs to be done: talk. She hasn’t seen him since the airport, hasn’t heard one word from him since she let him and Barnes go to Siberia and then, just when she thought things couldn’t get _that_ much worse, they do. Maybe she’d jinxed it. Maybe Steve Rogers and James Barnes just have the worst luck in the whole damn world.

Maybe they all just need a break.

She settles on that one.

Steve’s lips drag roughly but pleasantly along the skin on her neck, his waist pressed flush against hers, pinning her in place. She wants to move. Wants to do… _something_ , and for a moment she almost manages to form actual words, but Steve kisses them away like they’re nothing. She thinks they might be heavy in his mouth, the way his hands tighten on her hips. She thinks that logic might be coming back to him, because his brow furrows. But she’s just as uncertain as he is. She’s torn between needing to have an _actual_ discussion with him and not wanting him to stop the way he’s kissing her like she’s some sort of lifeline. Her uncertainty seems to only make him _surer_ of what he wants in this very moment, because he hoists her up into his arms and continues kissing her as he walks to the bedroom, no matter that he probably can’t see and doesn’t even know where she sleeps, anyway.

When she noticed Steve following her in the streets ten minutes ago, she’d known that his presence would culminate in some sort of passionate meeting once she made it back to her apartment. She just hadn’t expected _this_ sort of passion. She’d anticipated an argument at most, maybe. What with everything going on, not just between their team and the government but _them_ , they have a lot of hashing out to do. They’ve never been in an outright relationship, but they had something before the Accords, she knows that much. It’d been building up since D.C., at the very least, and it took a lot of self-discovery and desperate, last-ditch attempts at futile distractions ( _Bruce_ ) to see that there was no fighting it. Whatever self-doubts, whatever deep-rooted issues she had? It didn’t change how she felt about Steve and how he felt about her. It never would.

But the government and Zemo splitting up the team, the Avengers? Maybe it hadn’t changed their feelings about each other, but it did change the circumstances of their relationship. For instance, right now, they’re sharing their first kiss—their _first time_ —after not seeing each other for eight weeks in a ratty one-bedroom apartment leased under a name that is definitely not Natasha Romanoff, ex-SHIELD agent and—ex-Avenger, now, she supposes.

Steve groans deep in his chest as Natasha deftly works the buttons of his shirt undone, before getting frustrated and just tearing the thing open. The belt securing his jeans is next, and when she glances up at him beneath her eyelashes, sitting on the edge of the bed as he stands above her, his eyes are wide and dark and his chest is heaving with every breath. For a moment, they just stare at each other. She chances opening her mouth again, to say something considering the only two things that have been voiced since she’d waited for him to finally catch up to her in her building’s hallway were a lame “hi” and an equally pathetic “hey”, but Steve shakes his head. And if it weren’t for the slightly pleading look on his face, she would’ve spoken anyway. Instead, she nods once and unbuttons his jeans, reaching inside and wrapping her hand around him without another hesitation. The new groan he gives in response is enough to dissolve her worry for him in the meantime.

His fingers go to her hair once she sucks the tip of him into her mouth, gently holding strands of her hair away from her face even though she can feel the way he wants to thrust into her mouth beneath her fingers, the tension in his bottom as she claws the nails of her free hand into the flesh there. His lips are parted and glossy when she looks up at him again, but she can’t name anything else to his gaze besides the obvious desire. She feels the same, in her gut, between her thighs. She can feel the heat in her eyes as she stares up at him and swallows more of his length down, hand compensating for what she can’t take. She works him to complete hardness, though it doesn’t take much work or time on her part; Steve seems like he’s already about to lose it by the time she pulls back and swirls her tongue around the head, dips it into the slit. He stutters on a choked breath, hand tightening in her hair before sinking to his knees in front of her and capturing her mouth with his own. He moans at their combined tastes, and it makes the aching between her thighs more unbearable. She wiggles a hand between them and unzips her pants.

But before she can do any more, Steve bats her hand out of the way with his own and snakes it down the front of her panties. There’s no preamble, no teasing; his fingers go right where she wants him, _needs_ him, and she mewls against his lips. The angle and her jeans are constricting, though, so he scoots the both of them up the bed like their combined weight is nothing and tears both her jeans and underwear off her legs once she’s flat on her back. Natasha busies herself with stripping off her shirt and bra as Steve steps out his socks and shoes and the puddle of his jeans around his feet, and she’s barely tossing her undergarments to the floor before he’s on top of her again, kissing her breathless and swiping his thumb over her clit.

He works her up, just like she’d done with him, leaving her mouth to latch his lips over one of her nipples, pinching and rolling and plucking the other with his free hand. She squirms beneath him, caught between overstimulation and wanting more. He gives her the latter, sliding down her body even further until he’s nestled between her thighs and has his mouth on her where his fingers had once been. She cries out, bunching her hands in the sheets and arching into his touch. She has more questions now, questions that don’t have to do with _them_ as much as _this_ , such as where he learned any of it, but her vocabulary has been greatly reduced to nothing but whimpers in breathless Russian and broken off gasps of air.

Steve sucks her clit between his lips and sinks his fingers inside of her, rubbing and curling in just the right place, and that’s all it takes for her to let go. She digs her heels into the muscles in his back and writhes on the sheets, belatedly biting down on the fleshy part of her palm because she remembers that with a shitty apartment comes thin walls. It’s futile, she knows, very much so, and it makes Steve groan and pull her arm away. He wants to hear her, eyes blown wide as he watches her face, keeps rubbing gently inside of her, and waits for her to ride her orgasm out.

“Natasha,” he gasps once she’s done, and it’s not only the second thing he’s said to her yet, but it’s also the first time he’s said her name in two long months. It also throws their unspoken rule of _no_ _talking_ out the window, because his face creases and she reaches for him and kisses him soundly. He chants her name against her lips and she moans his as she reaches down and grabs hold of his cock. Just as the head of him brushes against her folds, he manages to yank his head back, eyes wide. “I don’t have a—”

“It’s fine,” she reassures him, kissing the apple of his cheek. That’s part of another discussion they haven’t had the chance to have yet, but he seems to take her word for it, because he doesn’t argue as she bites her lip and guides him inside of her. He groans into her neck, visibly trying not to abruptly jackknife into her by mouthing sloppily at the slope of skin there. He even gives her time to adjust once he’s fully seated inside of her, but sweat beads on his forehead with the effort so she clenches around him, letting him know that it’s okay. He reads her like a book, doesn’t even nod or ask if she’s ready before he’s slamming his hips into her, moving the both of them up the bed with the force. She lets out a surprised moan at that, bracing her hand against the wall above them as Steve props himself up on his elbows and thrusts deeply in and out of her.

The room is alight with the sounds of their collective moans and gasps and panting breaths, bouncing around the walls and resonating deep in her core. His chest is sweaty and sliding against her breasts, but it feels fantastic, and so does the way his pelvis bumps against her clit every time he pistons into her at this angle. She can tell in the way that his thrusts grow increasingly desperate that he’s not going to last long—and she’s not either, for that matter, getting too lost in his touch, in _him_. He comes before her though, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep supporting his weight as his hips slam into her three more stammered times before pressing her deep into the bed, strong enough that she has to gasp for air—though that also may be because she’s teetering right on the edge herself, struggling to reach her climax even though she feels the beginnings of it pulsing through her whole body.

Steve throws himself off of her just as soon as he’s got his breath back, but instead of sliding out of her he just rolls the both of them over so that she’s straddling his hips. It doesn’t take her long to figure out what he wants, not with the way his mouth is still slick with spit and hanging open in an equally rapt and blissed-out expression. She bites her lip and plants her hands on his heaving chest, rolling her hips roughly and chasing her orgasm with a sort of relentlessness almost akin to violence. She rides him until her thighs ache with the effort, and only then does Steve press his thumb to the apex of her folds.

She absolutely careens, doesn’t even try to muffle it at this point, face scrunched and head bowed as her waist twitches above his. Before her eyes flutter shut she vaguely makes out Steve still watching her with that same expression, but she also feels another warmth inside of her that is very much not her own, a tension in his thighs and pelvis. Her own orgasm has made him come again, she realizes, though she’s too fucked out to do much more than shiver through one small aftershock and collapse against his chest in response.

They lay there for a few long moments, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and pounding hearts filling the room.

It’s more than enough time for all of Natasha’s concerns to come rushing back. Steve must notice, she must tense or something, because he runs a hand down her spine and sluggishly shakes his head.

“Don’t, Nat,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Not now. Please.”

“Steve…”

“I know. I know there’s so much happening. I know I haven’t seen you in so long and I know that this probably shouldn’t have been done, but,” he swallows. She can’t bring herself to move her head off his shoulder to look at him, instead turned away so that she’s staring at the dirty, closed blinds covering the window. It’s another pathetic reminder of her— _their_ —situation. “I don’t regret it,” he finally says. “I don’t. If anything, I regretted not being able to do it sooner, before Siberia. No, before Lagos. When I still had the chance to.”

She closes her eyes and presses her face more into his skin.

“So, please, not now,” he murmurs, voice laced with pain. “And… and you know I can’t stay, Nat. And you can’t come with me. I wish you could, but it’s not safe. I’m… me and Buck… we’re just too big of a target right now.”

She knows that. And she knows that Steve doesn’t doubt she can take care of herself, but if she were ever put in danger because of him? He’d never be able to live with himself. So she doesn’t argue. But she does finally lift her head and look him in the eye, blinks away the stupid tears that sting at her vision even though his eyes are sort of watery, too.

“All I ask,” she begins, then briefly closes her eyes. “No, all I _need_ , Steve, is for you to be safe. Okay? Just promise me that. Wherever you go, don’t get yourself captured or—” She glances away, angry with what she’s about to say. At the very thought that it’s a possibility. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

He chokes on a quiet sob, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close. “I promise,” he says into her neck. She weaves her fingers into his hair and presses her face closer to him. “I promise. We’re going someplace safe. Someplace they can’t touch us.”

“Am I allowed to know?” She feels him smile sadly against her collarbone. “Fine, just… just find some way to keep me updated. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I won’t,” he says, pulling away. He looks her in the eye, cups the side of her face. “I swear. And you too, okay? Be careful. Please.”

She smiles now, though she can feel the weakness in it, too. Still, she tries to sound like she used to before, when they, all of them, were still friends. A family. “I always am.”

She can tell that the effort lifts his spirits, and he kisses her. Softly this time, not the rushed sort they’d been sharing ever since he’d slammed her up against the wall. “I know, Natasha. I just needed to ask.”

“Do you need to leave now?” She manages to ask, a few minutes later.

“No, not for a few hours.” He presses a kiss to her forehead before gently pulling out of her and settling her into his side. “Just rest. We both need it.”

She can’t argue with him on that. She still feels trepidation in her gut, doesn’t think it’ll ever go way until— _if_ things go back to the same way they were again. But Steve’s arms around her are like an anchor, grounding her in the moment. She doesn’t linger on the thought that she’ll probably wake up to any empty bed.

For now, she just sleeps.


End file.
